


A Golf Outing

by ikkiM



Series: Scenes in Search of a Fic [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fighting, Flirting, Golf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin Lannister has cardiac issues, but no one knows, not even his children. He's hired Brienne Tarth, recent college graduate with a degree in kinesiology, to be his personal assistant, but secretly monitor his health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Golf Outing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophie_Of_Tarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_Of_Tarth/gifts).



> I have a huge unfinished Mod AU. It's come down to the fact that I am never, ever going to finish it. But there are parts of it that I like. I have decided to post those scenes in bits and pieces of a series so I can emotionally let it go. They won't be chronological and they have had only the most basic of beta, so they are not good writing AT ALL. Don't expect that. This is more about me letting this story go than putting up work that makes me proud. But maybe these will make you giggle.
> 
> So first up, for Sophie, because she always makes me smile.

 

Tyrion Lannister had no idea why they were letting Bronn, the drunkest of the four, drive the golf cart. He sat in the front while Jaime and Brienne sat in the back bickering. Again. Still. Endlessly.

“I really should be up there with him. He needs me there to monitor things.” Brienne seemed almost lost without Tywin near. It was slightly disturbing.

Bronn looked at him. “Does she really think Tywin Lannister, multimillionaire, corporate raider and mogul, fucking richest man in Westeros, can’t do a deal without her? Who the fuck is she again anyway?”

“Father’s fine, wench,” Jaime argued.

“She’s his personal assistant,” Tyron repeated the family mantra.

“Your father goes through assistants like I go through rum. This one has been around for months. Why can’t he just throw a paperweight at her so we can be rid of her?” Bronn had a point, but Tywin seemed rather attached to this one.

Brienne turned in her seat to try to catch a glimpse of the foursome playing the hole in front of them. “Kevan will call me if there’s a problem right? Or text?” Belatedly, she elbowed Jaime in the ribs. “My name is Brienne.” She turned to Bronn. “Mr. Lannister doesn’t throw items at people.”

Bronn snorted. “Have you met the man? He’s a fucking nightmare. His life’s mission is to make people’s skin crawl. He’s worse than the fucking Silent Sisters at primary school. All that barely controlled fury and Death Star glares. He threw a pen at me during my interview. If he didn’t pay so well, we’d all have quit years ago.”

Brienne drew in an indignant breath. “Tywin Lannister is fine man and you’ll not speak that way about him. Have _you_ ever met him?”

“Oh, gods.” Jaime poked her thigh. “Wench, I know you have this ridiculous idea that Father, the uncaring obsessive control freak, is actually a human being, but no one else in the world believes you, so could you just shut up about it?”

“My name is Brienne,” she growled. “He is not uncaring. And perhaps he’d seem more caring if either of you showed him even the slightest kindness—” She tried to catch a glimpse of Tywin again. “You don’t think he looks winded?”

Bronn almost veered into a tree. Jaime moaned.

Tyrion tried to diffuse the situation. “Brienne, Father will be fine. Uncle Kevan will contact us if there’s a problem. We can see them ahead. See, there’s Father in the orange golf pants you insisted he wear for visibility’s sake. He’s fine.”

Brienne twisted the other direction. “I just wanted to be able to keep my eye on him from a distance.” She crossed her arms. “Golf is a singularly stupid sport. It’s not providing any real exercise. I mean. We are driving in a cart. You three are drinking alcohol. All we’re doing is hitting the ball, driving around, hitting the ball again. There is no cardio value in golf at all.”

Jaime leaned his head to rest it on the top of Tyrion’s. “Let’s take Brienne with us, you said. It’ll be fun, you said.”

“You’re just jealous because she made that par four.” He knew Jaime hated being bested in sport.

“I am not jealous.” Jaime punctuated his sentence by pinching the underside of Brienne’s bicep. She yanked his earlobe. “Ow.” They were really like children.

Bronn stopped the cart and they all bailed out.

Brienne shaded her eyes, searching the next hole for Tywin. “He might need me. I should have been in his quartet.”

“Foursome,” the three men corrected in unison.

Bronn opened another beer. He’d given up actual golf on the seventh hole. Tyrion didn’t golf at all, so it was really just Jaime and Brienne playing.

Brienne continued as if they’d not spoken, “Stannis Baratheon can be exceedingly irritating. Mr. Lannister won’t like his constant need to point out split infinitives and improper use of subjunctive case. Although Davos is a calming influence.”

Tyrion was surprised, “You know Stannis? How do you know Stannis?”

Brienne brushed the question aside, pulled out a random club and took a mighty swing, landing her ball on the green easily. She rested the club like a cricket bat on her shoulder and answered. “Of course, I know Stannis. I lived with his younger brother for two years.”

Jaime’s shanked his shot into the woods.

“I thought you said you were good at this.” Brienne shot Jaime an accusatory glare.

“I _am_ good at this,” Jaime argued.

Brienne sidestepped his swing at her backside.

Jaime went on, “I’m good at every sport. I can hit a homerun, turn a double play, catch a touchdown pass, serve an ace, and block a goal. I can even dunk. I can fence. I swim. I can ride a horse. I ski. I play squash. I play handball. And I’m good at golf. And why am I just finding out now that you lived with Renly Fucking Baratheon?”

Brienne tilted her head. “Then why am I beating you? I have a black belt in karate, am certified to teach yoga and krav maga. I fenced competitive sabre and played prep school tennis. Every idiot can swim and I’m certain that given an amount of time to practice, I could dunk a basketball as well. I’m younger and taller than you.” She poked him in the chest with her golf club. “And you never asked me about Renly, so why would I tell you?”

Bronn perked up. “Kavma sutra? Does that mean she teaches fucking?”

“Yes, wench, tell us, how many ways did you fuck that poncy wanker? Does Father know you lived with a snotty little windbag?”

Brienne turned red. “My _name_ is _Brienne_.” She stood toe-to-toe with Jaime, noses almost touching. “If you say one more cruel thing about Renly, I will pound you into the dirt, Jaime Lannister.”

Jaime stood his ground. “Just try it, wench. I dare you.” Their eyes locked.

Bronn leaned over to Tyrion to whisper, “Is she fucking your brother? Looks like he’s about to throw her on the ground and fuck her right now.” He pulled out his phone and turned on the video record function just in case.

Tyrion dropped his head into his hands. There really wasn’t enough alcohol available.

Brienne blinked and backed away. She turned to look at the foursome ahead. “Is he signaling for me? Do you think he needs me?”

The three men groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [downlookingup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/downlookingup/pseuds/downlookingup) for the idea of calling this Scenes in Search of a Fic. She's fabulous. You want some good writing? Go read her stuff!


End file.
